


Wake Up and Dust Me Off

by lizzybizzyzzz



Series: Precious Peter Parker, Punctured Peter Parker, and Especially Everything In-Between [12]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Anxiety, Anxiety Attacks, Anxiety Disorder, Bisexual Peter Parker, Dead May Parker (Spider-Man), Emotional Hurt, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Insomnia, Peter Parker Feels, Peter Parker Has Anxiety, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Post-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), Post-Spider-Man: Homecoming, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Precious Peter Parker, Protective Peter Parker, Protective Tony Stark, Separation Anxiety, Teen Peter Parker, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Tony Stark Does What He Wants, Tony Stark Feels, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark Has Issues, Tony Stark Needs a Hug
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-18
Updated: 2018-07-20
Packaged: 2019-06-12 08:21:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,830
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15335766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lizzybizzyzzz/pseuds/lizzybizzyzzz
Summary: "Mr. Parker," Karen said through his mask. He had missed her, and it helped him feel less alone and more whole. Karen made him feel like he wasn't just dust. "I advise you to get some sleep, as it has been too long to properly function without it. Would you like me to alert Mr. Stark?"Peter groaned. "Why do you always want to tell on me, Karen?"She hummed, as if wanting to smile. "Mr. Stark has programmed me to care for you while you are incapable of doing so yourself."





	1. Peter Parker? An insomniac? No way.

**Author's Note:**

> This has Infinity War spoilers, and mentions of mental illness (anxiety, PTSD, insomnia) please be careful!

Peter thought this would get better. He thought than when he stepped foot on earth again for the first time he'd be cured. That maybe he could push all the emotional trauma aside and get on with his life. That  _maybe_ he could be the friendly neighborhood Spider-Man without almost passing out whenever he hears the word 'dust.' Spider-Man was being missed in New York right now, there were posters and fliers everywhere, little kids screaming for a hero to save them. But Spider-Man couldn't help them if he couldn't help Peter Parker, or at least, that's what Mr. Stark had convinced him. Mr. Stark almost took the damn suit way for God's sake, you know, the suit he had died in the first time. The suit that he crumpled to dust in without a trace that the pile had been human. He had been torn apart by the air, his soul in a stone. He had been looking at the sky, that beautiful red sky that now represented blood to him. Peter gagged thinking about that planet, the red dirt and cloudy atmosphere that he would have marveled in just a year ago. He prefers the blue skies and green grass under his feet on earth, thank you very much. 

This is what Peter thought of when he should be sleeping but every time he closes his eyes he feels the red dirt on his back. He sees the darkness that was the soul world, Peter couldn't help but notice that he shone much brighter than most did. The brightest and biggest souls were kids and teenagers around Peter's age with sparkly gold lights. Peter's was like a sparkler that never ran out and it was blue. He had to avoid the color now. The prettiest soul in his opinion was a pink but dull one. It was ripping apart and not even sparkly but it was  _bright._ Brighter than Peter's, and he was almost jealous until he realized he shouldn't be seeing this. Peter shouldn't be seeing his soul, other's souls. When he came back he found out that only he saw this. His enhanced senses, bless that radioactive spider, had followed him. He saw the color's of his dead friends' souls, and it was too much. He sees them in the stars in the sky, in lamps, in fireworks he sees through the television screen. Sometimes Peter has to dig his finger nails into his palms to reassure himself that he has a body and not just some over-active lightbulb. 

"Mr. Parker," Karen said through his mask. He had missed her, and it helped him feel less alone and more whole. Karen made him feel like he wasn't just dust. "I advise you to get some sleep, as it has been too long to properly function without it. Would you like me to alert Mr. Stark?" 

Peter groaned. "Why do you always want to tell on me, Karen?"

She hummed, as if wanting to smile. "Mr. Stark has programmed me to care for you while you are incapable of doing so yourself." 

Peter took the mask off. Mr. Stark wasn't exactly talking to him right now. Whenever he walked up to the man he wouldn't meet Peter's eyes. Peter was starting to wonder if he'd done anything wrong, or had upset the man. Obviously Peter's death would have gotten to him, but this much? He couldn't care for Peter this much. Peter wasn't loved by this man this much. Peter couldn't read Mr. Stark, couldn't tell when he was upset until he was already yelling. 

Peter needs someone to talk to. Not some 40-dollar-an-hour-therapist that's going to make him draw pictures and lay across a small couch. He needs a familiar face, and the one he's thinking of wouldn't be able to. Peter needs a hug, he needs a nap. He thinks of the last time he really slept and it was on Titan. He drifted off that red dirt. 

Instead of getting a hug or a nap, Peter sits in the dark silence of his bedroom. The bedroom that's filled of things from his pre-death life. Peter knows this is his, all things because he fanboys over the Star Wars poster when he came back the first time. His heart clenched at the photo of him, Ned and MJ. He almost tears up at a picture of him and May, and then a single one of Uncle Ben. He actually does shed a tear at the picture of him hanging from the ceiling, giving the camera a thumbs up and a big smile. Next to him was Mr. Stark smiling at him, completely ignoring the camera. Ignoring it like Peter is the only thing that mattered, but he pushed that thought away. If he'd learned anything it was that Mr. Stark was a busy man. Too busy to care for sleep-deprived vigilante teenage superheros. 

Peter closed his eyes and saw his soul. The sparks of blue that sometimes flickered off. One in particular concerned him. One soul in the whole stone that was just a stone. One that was just a regular rock. It didn't shine or sparkle and it was dull and dusty. Some looked similar, but those had shone a little. This stone had nothing, but it was perfectly round and a nice shade of grey. Peter wonders what has to happen to you to have a rock-soul. 

Peter hears a knock on his door and he clamps his eyes shut. When it opens he hears and sigh and then a weight on his bed. Peter won't move a muscle and forces himself not the flinch when a hand touched his cheek. It's timid and soft. Peter can hear the mans heart beat going a mile a minute and he worries. Without  a word a tray is set down on his bed stand and the warmth is all gone. Peter still doesn't open his eyes. 

This goes on for a few days since Peter doesn't bother leaving his bed. There's nothing for him to do and Mr. Stark avoids him one day. One day until Peter makes the mistake of venturing to the couch. He, of course, falls asleep on this very open couch. He's snoring when Mr. Stark sits on the opposite couch. He's screaming ten minuted into the movie Mr. Stark picked. 

Peter jolts up with a yell, desperately patting at his body, making sure it's there. It always is, every time he checks but he has to anyway. He's crying by the time Mr. Stark is kneeling beside him and holding his hands. Peter has to pull them away and hold the couch so he doesn't break the mans hands. Peter is breathing so heavily he swallows his tears by accident. They're salty and the first thing he's eaten in three days. Maybe that's why he passed out so fast, he literally had no energy. It's why he can no longer hold his body up and he lets it flop back into the couch. His eyes flutter shut again and it's his soul. His blue soul burning out, becoming nothing but a pebble. 

Peter stops struggling and gives in. He's too tired to open his eyes, to breathe, to do anything. He hears Mr. Stark calling his name and shaking his limp hands. After awhile of course he opens his eyes again to a blanket draped over him and Mr. Stark watching him firmly. 

"Missr... Stark..." Peter croaks. 

"Don't speak." Mr. Stark says, standing up to stand next to him again. "Next time you're having problems, you tell me. Don't think you're not important or something, kid." 

 It's awkward. More awkward than it was before and Mr. Stark clear his throat. "If you need anything-"

Peter nods, stopping his flow of words. He tears up a little and Mr. Stark's fingers twitch like they want to fix that. He holds his arms out like a little kid and flushes a deep red. His chest rakes with sobs as Mr. Stark leans in and grasps him. They're rocking together, Mr. Stark now on the couch, He's supporting all of Peter's weight, all of his troubles and night mares. Mr. Stark is taping back his dusty pieces. 

"I missed you, Pete." Mr. Stark said. That's when Peter felt the wetness of the mans tears on his scalp, being stroked away by the mans free hand. 

Peter swallowed hard and closed his eyes for what felt like the hundredth time. "I missed you too." 

They stayed like that for awhile, Mr. Stark planted a kiss to his temple and Peter stayed silent like always.


	2. Situational

Peter felt himself ripping apart, his legs and fingers and toes turning to ash. His torso and head slipped right through his mentor's fingers once, but it was a different story in his dreams- nightmares, definitely not dreams. If Peter was dreaming he'd be thinking of the night he'd spent with his aunt and uncle. He'd think about all the Lego sets he builds with Ned and how he smiles when MJ draws him. He'd think of working in the lab with Mr. Stark but no. These are his nightmares, and it was just his luck that his nightmares would come true. Everything he didn't want to happen was  _real._ Peter didn't want to die, he'd barely even lived. He hasn't done anything yet, hasn't experienced life, only death and loss. He hasn't had enough good, but he's seen enough bad to know what life is like. Peter knows what it's like the slip right through the fingers of someone he loves. 

Peter was twitching. His legs bounced constantly and he itched to lay on the ceiling in peace. He'd already shut the lights off in the whole compound but there wasn't much more he could do. He wants to make himself a web and sleep there forever. 

"Happy's waiting for you outside, kid." Mr. Stark says, walking past him into the elevator. 

Before saying goodbye, the man is gone and Peter is alone with his  _itch._

School is blurry and a mess, but he manages. He sighs in relief when he finally gets to go on patrol and can sling his webs pretty much anywhere. He lays in a hammock across two buildings and reads. Karen said there's pretty much no crime the police can't handle, so he lets it go for a day. Sure he's guilty but that is being pushed aside for this right now. He shoots his webbing up into the air and feels tension leak away from his body. Peter can breathe again. His muscles stop twitching and he closes his eyes. 

When Peter closes his eyes he's dead again. He coughing up dust and his own ashes. His re-materialization is just as painful as when his atoms broke apart the first time. He feels his back pressing against the red dirt of Titan and he feels nauseous. 

He sees Aunt May's eyes staring him down, coldly and without their usual maternal smile. Her hair splayed across their kitchen tiles when his knees his them hard. He remembers the sound his phone made when he threw it across the room, the screen smashing in it's wake. 

He feels his chest tighten in time with his flash back on the Vulture. His lips press together as he recalls how it's claws dug into his rib cage and he swears it scraped his heart. He remembers the cement and dust he coughed up, the residue so similar to the one on Titan that it makes him shiver. The building and rocks fall around him and he's holding the ground to stop it from crushing him to death. 

Peter clutches at the webbing and wheezes, forcing his eyes open. He looks into the sky and ignores Karen telling him about the missed calls from Mr. Stark. 

He thinks about how Thanos grabbed him right off the webs in was now enclosed in and trapped him, leaving him to squirm. How his giant hand squeezed his ribs so tight he lost oxygen. How the infinity gauntlet felt in his hands, the power that radiated off of it. This is pushed aside when he remembers how Peter Quill pressed his forearm against his throat just to scare them. That Peter was always the one being robbed of oxygen, taken and torn apart. He was constantly being smashed by their enemies and disregarded by their allies. Peter knows that every single one of the Avengers sees him as some little buggy kid that Tony Stark took under his wing: a charity case. 

Peter heard metal shoes hit the building above his web but he didn't look up. He knows who it is and he doesn't feel like getting yelled at. He can hear his mentor's heavy breathing as he lifts the face plate and looks at Peter angrily. 

"Hey Spider-Man." Mr. Stark says, making his finger roll in the  _get-your-ass-over-here_ crunch. 

Peter gulps and climbs on the wall to stand in front of him without  word. 

"Ya know, that brand new phone of yours if a pretty good thing to have I'd say. Is it broken? Do you know how to use it?" 

Peter thought it was rhetorical but Tony clicked his tongue and waited for an answer. 

"I know how to use it, sir." 

"I figured." The man grumbled, rubbing his forehead. "Enlighten me this time, why didn't you use our lovely technological aspect?" 

"I didn't hear it ring." He shrugs, because it's true, Peter ignored it. 

Peter could see Mr. Stark getting increasingly more frustrated. He was practically fuming when he circled Peter, making him anxious. In any other situation Peter would have asked him to stop moving. He could feel his heartbeat rising and knew that the man would be notified about it anytime now. 

"Yes, sir." 

- 

"Mr. Parker." Tony said without his usual amusement. His voice was cold and Peter wanted so badly to flinch away from it. Peter wanted to run away and cry, he feels like a little kid screaming for his mom. 

"Mr. Stark." Peter breathes. 

"What's going on with you." It wasn't a question, it was a demand. 

A demand that Peter couldn't say out loud. Him and his mentor had yet to talk about Peter dying and he didn't want this to be it. He wanted to be emotionally ready and right now, he was short-circuiting. His head spun with the weight of what he was about to say and he silently prayed his voice would stop working before he broke Tony's heart. This burden was Peter's, it was his sadness, his anxiety, his  _will._

"I don't know what to do." Peter whispered. It was so quiet that is Tony wasn't right next to him he wouldn't have heard it. 

The mans expression did not soften or even show emotion other than anger. Peter did flinch this time and he had to turn around. He hated himself for tearing up, hated that he was so emotional. He  _died_ for fuck's sake, and he came back. He got another chance to be Spider-Man, another chance to be Peter Parker. It was quite literally a chance of a lifetime if he'd ever known one. 

"God, I am trying hard here, I really am. But you keeping me out of the loop of your traumatic life experiences is the most infuriating thing I have to endure. Your hero guilt complex is going to get you killed, Parker." 

Peter whipped back around, growing uncharacteristically angry. "I  _was_ killed Tony!" He yelled. "I turned to dust and you act like I don't wake up and remember! I remember  _everything_ from that fucking planet. Everything." 

Only then did Tony's expression become gentle, he tensed but his eyes were warming. "Pete-" 

"I'm not finished!" Peter snapped. "I can't talk about it because if I do, it's real. I'll freak out, I'll die all over again and it'll never go away." He hates how his voice cracks on the few words, how his vision is blurred with tears and the hurt look Tony is giving him. "I need it to stop. I need everything..." He hides his face behinds his hands and chokes out a sob. 

Tony is on him in an instant with a clenched jaw and shaky hands. He pulls away, he wants to be alone but Tony isn't having that when he grips his biceps. He says nothing when he pulls Peter into him. 

"I'll make it better." 

Peter says nothing because he knows that this isn't something forgettable. It's not something he'll be able to shake away or sleep off. He'll always be sifting through Tony's fingers over and over and over again whether it's real or not. He'll always be coughing up his own ashes and his knees will always be planted next to his aunt's dead body. He'll always be clamped under someone that wants him dead and thrown around by his situational enemies.

 

**Author's Note:**

> please comment fic ideas!!! I have one more but then that's it until I get more, thank you :) I forgot to mention this before but NO SMUT, between any characters. I do not write smut, especially between tony and peter because i'd rather eat an angry hornet! don't do that to me!
> 
> ill fix this fic when im less delusional


End file.
